Why Cocaine is a Nasty Drug
by Yellowfur
Summary: Jason brings home something a little harsher than weed. -Mild slash fanfic for Knocked Up. Pairing: Jay/Jason  other characters included . Oneshot.-


**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters used within.**

**I watch all Judd Apatow movies with my slash goggles on. I'm actually a little surprised more people don't do the same... Don't be hating. Just roll with it.**

**All reviews welcome.  
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Why Cocaine is a Nasty Drug

Jodi had established herself to her lover and his male companions as someone who was firmly against cocaine. Every other time she visited their craphouse (her weed-clever nickname for it), she would end up in some tangent about how she knew someone who knew someone whose heart was "Like, totally shot from coke, man! … It's totally El Diablo!..." and so on. She could go on for about two minutes before Martin was the only one listening to her, and that was probably only until he got distracted by his own testicles. Ben and his men had all done cocaine at some point, but none of them had associated with it enough to recognize any specific effects it had on them. Then again, they didn't typically pay attention to any sort of adverse effects in each other's bodies.

Ben had learned over time that posing a question to Jason rarely resulted in an answer that was comforting in any way. With caution, he asked, "Jason… where did you get a bigass bag of cocaine?"

"What? Aw man, no! You can't have that in the house!" In a fuchsia tank top and ripped purple cargo shorts, Martin was hardly one to give out orders (not that the others would listen to him if he were wearing a three-piece suit).

Jason paid Martin very little mind as he paced around closing curtains and locking the front door, but he would get caught with illegal drugs before he _rushed _to do anything. "You're right, I'll just put it in the mail box. Hell no, I'm not going to get rid of it! What are you, a middle-aged, Catholic mother of two?"

"Haha, ew. But no, seriously, where did you get it?" Jay tugged on the ever-drooping sleeves of his hoodie – every item of clothing in the world was baggy on his twiggy frame.

Jason's straight face, accompanied with the permanent bags under his eyes, pushed him past the zone of 'poker face' and toward 'undead'. "Guys. Don't worry about it."

"You're really creepy," Jonah commented, but otherwise didn't express much deep concern for the issue at hand (or anything in the entire world). "Do you know how to, you know, make… lines?"

"I've SEEN it done a thousand times… it can't be that hard," Jason picked up the bag, shook it a bit, stared at it, opened it, stared at it some more, put the bag gently on the table, stared at it once again, put his hands in his pockets, then focused on Jay, who flinched at the sudden eye contact. "Jay, how did we do it that time I made you snort an altoid?"

"You didn't MAKE me. You gave me twenty dollars to do it."

"Shut up, how did we make the lines?"

He laughed nervously. "There is no 'we'. You're the one with fake experience around here."

"Yeah, I'll show YOU experience-"

"Heyyy, let's just try this instead of flirting all day," Ben had found someone's expired gift card. "We'll just make random little lines. Couple inches each or something. And I'll get a straw… it'll be easy."

There was a murmur of agreement, but as Ben moved toward the Ziploc, he paused. "Wait, how do I scoop it out? With my fingers?"

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Eventually, four lines were sloppily set up and snorted. Martin bowed out and went to call Jodi to angst about his drug-addicted roommates. The others kindly told him that the Midol was in the bathroom cabinet.

Especially in contrast to the stoned snail's pace with which anything happened in that house, the four newly fueled men had never felt more capable. Right after taking the cocaine, they all mutually agreed that their furniture was in desperate need of arrangement. Within ten minutes, the entire house was arranged according to their brand new special feng shui based on the philosophy of "The table can't face that way! It can't! It doesn't sit right with me! It doesn't! It can't!"

Since they were already making their house beautifully accommodating, there was also a sudden need to get all the mold out of the kitchen. A total of fifteen minutes was spent finding various cleaners, wiping off the counters, and throwing out old food in the fridge.

Then, "Shit. Shit! Guys!" Ben looked more distressed than he would be if he was screwing someone and the condom broke. "We have no food!"

All three of the others gasped (except for Jonah, who sort of squealed).

"No. No no no no no no!" Jay shook his head about. "We need to have food around!"

"No shit, Sherlock! We're gonna starve! NO, what are we gonna do? We're gonna get MALNOURISHED-"

"YOU won't! You have a belly! I will, though! I'm a… nothing! I'm a nothing!"

"Up yours!"

"GUYS!" Jason's hands were shaking, but other than that, signs of the cocaine were wearing off. "Dammit, calm down! Just… someone go get groceries!"

Jonah's hand shot up. "I know EXACTLY what to get!"

"You don't know anything!" Ben shouted. "I can get them!"

"Holy SHIT! Don't fight!" Jason's hands covered his head.

"Ben's an asshole, I didn't, I never, I didn't, I didn't do anything! I can buy groceries, too!"

Jason ignored Jonah. "Do you dicks have any money?"

Ben felt around his pants. "Somewhere. I have to. Somewhere!"

"Then GO."

Jonah and Ben, muttering in fast forward, ambled out, but Ben turned around. "What, shit, what do you guys want? Maybe you should-"

"Get ANYTHING, but you're giving me a huge fucking head-"

"ICE CREAM!" Jay screeched at them.

The door slammed shut behind them.

"Thank you," Jason said. "What the hell are you doing?"

"So… energetic…" Jay was hopping like a mohawk-ed jackrabbit in place. "Wanna get higher… up!"

Jason watched him for minute, fascinated. Then slowly, he also bounced in place a few times. Jay saw this and stopped. He let out a boyish giggle, then ran out of the living room, muttering something about being scared his weed would suddenly "go stale".

Jason looked around for something to stop the buzzing in his ears. _Maybe magazines. No. Books, there are a couple books. What? No. TV. Yes. Jay shouting. No, what?_

A very upset mohawk-ed jackrabbit bounded back into the living room. "You took my bowl!"

"Yeah. That makes a lot of sense. I took your bowl." Jason reached for the remote but didn't bother sitting down. He didn't know what coked-out Jay was usually like, but it probably wouldn't give him a moment's rest until it was satisfied. Like some scary beast out for blood. "Retrace your steps, dude. Where did you last smoke up?"

"No, seriously, I don't have it, and Ben just got a new one, and Martin uses Jodi's, and Jonah calls mine gross, and so-"

"AND I have my own, thank you."

"You said you liked mine!"

"What is wrong with you? I like your bowl because I like bowls, dumbass. Go get a glass of water and take a nap or something. The coke is just freaking you out. Think about that, okay?"

"Shut up, it's NOT just that! You're not THAT much smarter than me, okay? Don't act like that…"

"I know one thing you don't!"

"What?"

"That I didn't TAKE YOUR BOWL, so go jerk off to the Canadian national anthem or some shit! Just leave me alone!"

Jay launched himself at Jason. Surprise was the only real advantage he had, since Jason had about four inches and fifty pounds on him. Jason barely moved, even as Jay barraged him with disorganized, flustered blows from bony little fists. Jason grew slowly less shocked and more annoyed at the attack. It even came with frantic little animal noises. Jason held up his arms as a shield. "Fuck- what are you-don't SCRATCH me- you psychotic little fuck!-" He made a couple lazy moves to push Jay away, but then a couple small hits actually connected with his cheek. He gave Jay one good shove, and when he jumped back toward him, Jason's fist slammed into his nose.

Just like that, the hailstorm of poorly planned punches was reduced to a 121-pound heap of legs and arms sprawled out on the dirty rug. All at once, he sat up - looking very much like a spanked toddler - a stream of red streaked down his face and he let out a strangled cry.

"Shit," Jason sighed. "Uhhh, well… look how much good that did you."

Jay cried out again, sounding less now like a child and more like dying rodent. It was a gusher. His chin was covered, his shirt collar stained and ruined.

"Nooo, don't start sobbing or something, now I feel guilty!" Jason tugged Jay to his feet and steered him to their bathroom. "Go sit somewhere, I'll get you some ice. Don't get blood everywhere, please." He trudged around and searched a couple drawers for old washcloths. No luck. "MARTIN!"

"Whaaaaaat?" from the other end of the house.

"I need a washcloth!"

Martin made his way out into the living room. "That pile of laundry by the coffee table is a little less dirty than any of the others."

"Thank you… What's that in your hand?"

Martin thrust it at him. It was Jay's bowl. "I don't want it anymore. It's gross."

Jason swore at him a half dozen times and carried the ice and washcloth to the bathroom.

"What was that for?" Martin received no answer. "I told you, bro… cocaine is bad shit!"

In the bathroom, Jason was greeted with, "It's swelling up, so now I'll look gross like you."

"You wish you looked like me. What, did you use one tissue? That's no help. You're a mess, you retard." He grabbed Jay's shoulder and pushed the washcloth at his nose.

He whimpered at the contact. "You fucked with my bowl and then hit me. You're such a dick."

"Don't insult me when I have your blood on my hands. I'm not happy with you as it is. If it'll comfort you, take one of my bowls."

Jay's smirk was crooked. "… I would like that,"

"Yeah, asshole," _Stupid little weasel_. But it was hard – even for someone like Jason – to be mad at Jay for long. Especially not when he looked so pathetic, pale under the dimly flickering fluorescent in the bathroom, blood drying on his face, eyes unfocused and tired after his high was ruined. "Jay, listen… I'm not gonna bring cocaine home again for a really long time."

"Why not? It was okay before I suddenly thought I could win in a fight against you."

"Well, uh, it's expensive. And it gave me a headache." He took the washcloth away from Jay's face. "Plus you got hurt."

"Since when do you give a crap?"

"Since I punched you in the face!"

"… And not before then."

"What, how, I- are you kidding? I'm standing in the bathroom with you cleaning your face. Let me repeat that your _blood _is on my hands! Your freaky Canadian blood. I don't need to be doing this, you know, I could have just as well handed you a tampon and- oh GOD, stop looking at me like that!" Jay's narrow brown eyes seemed to bore a hole through him. It's like they were searching for something. Something more than first aid. "Hey… look… I don't think it's swelling…"

Jay whipped around to gawk at the mirror. "It' still bleeding!"

"Just a little."

"Is it broken?"

"I hope not."

"It still kinda fucking hurts!" he whined. "Do I have to go to the hospital?"

"Maybe. Do you want to?"

"No! They'll know I did cocaine. I don't want to do drug tests and go through all that shit. Hey, nose… please don't be broken... I'm gonna touch it just to- ow! Fuck! And it's still bleeding! Hey, wait a second, why are you being so nice to me?"

Jason had let himself get caught up watching Jay move in his own panicked little Jay way. "Huh, what?"

"Why haven't you called me a pussy yet?"

"Because- I'm not- you're not- …" _Stop. Breathe. Why are you letting Jay of all people trip you up?_ "You're not a pussy. I'm just playing around whenever I say that stuff. You know that, right?"

Jay stared at Jason's V-neck and fiddled with the soiled washcloth in his hands.

"Are you okay?"

Jay just kept staring at his chest. After a few seconds, he started tilting his head from side to side.

Jason couldn't stand the idea of someone checking out his collarbone. At least not at that second, for whatever reason. "Jay. Jay. Hello. I'm up here. Haha, what, am I some girl and you're looking at my chest?" No response. "Ha… uh, hey, Jay. Stop it. Cut it out! DUDE!" He swiftly reached out and tilted Jay's chin up to meet his eyes.

Jay flinched at the contact. Jason retracted his hand. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt you."

Jay stared back at him. Emotionless. "Okay…" A blank, deadened stare akin to Martin's.

And there was no way Jason was going to let Jay get away with reminding him of Martin when he was so much better, or at least, different, so different from Martin- "Seriously, I'm NOT gonna hit you!"

"Prove it!" His voice cracked.

Jason grabbed the washcloth and tossed it in the sink behind Jay. He planted his hands on the counter beside Jay. They grazed his skinny hips.

Jay looked at Jason's arms, then back to his eyes. "What?"

"Quiet."

Jay opened his mouth to say something, but he shut it and nodded once. Everything he did was slow and careful, for once. Deliberate. Almost like he was sober, but with the same wide-eyed fear and hesitance that hung on every limb and joint, always. He raised his hands up in the air, pausing, as if waiting for an order to stop. He put his hands on Jason's shoulders, clutching tightly.

Jason moved his hands from the counter top to Jay's hips. He wasn't sure if they ever had eye contact for so long. Jason noticed there was still fear in Jay's eyes. Goddamn, no. Can't be scared of me. Not really, right? Jason sighed, and after another few seconds of eye contact, he hugged Jay tightly around the wait.

Jay took a sharp breath.

"Please don't be scared of me."

Jay pushed him away, a surprising act of force from him. "What... how could- I'm not scared of you, okay? I'm not!"

"... Sorry, I just kind of-"

"Go away!"

"Your nose is bleeding again-"

"I don't CARE, get out!"

The bathroom door slammed in Jason's face. "Excuse me for trying to help! You know, don't forget that you're the psycho who tried to beat me up in the first place!" No response. Jason slowly walked away. "... Fuck."

Martin appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, or maybe out of their uncleaned refrigerator. Both were unsettling and realistic images for Martin. "You look like you have issues."

"Trouble with women."

Martin handed him Jay's bowl - packed and lit. "Moke sweed."

He accepted it. "Always."


End file.
